Darkness and Daylight eBook

“We have had no fever this summer. You
will be perfectly safe in coming any time after the
middle of October. I shall welcome Mr. Harrington
most cordially if he sees fit to accompany you.”

Edith could read this to Richard, and she did, feeling
a pang at the perfect faith with which he answered,

“Were it not for the tedious journey I believe
I would go with you, but it’s too much of an
undertaking. I won’t trammel you with so
great a burden. I’d rather stay at home
and anticipate my darling’s return.”

Then with the same forethought and careful consideration
which marked all his actions, Richard consulted with
her as to the beat time for her to start, fixing upon
the 15th of October, and making all his arrangements
subservient to this. He did not tell her how
lonely he should be without her—­how he should
miss her merry laugh, which, strange to say, grew
merrier each day; but he let her know in various ways
how infinitely precious she was to him, and more than
once Edith felt constrained to give up the journey,
but the influences from Florida drew her strangely
in that direction, and revolving to pay Richard for
his self-denial by an increase of love when she should
return, she busied herself with her preparations until
the 15th of October came, and her trunks stood ready
in the hall.

“If I could only read your letters myself, it
would not seem one-half so bad,” Richard said,
when at the last moment, he held Edith’s hand,
“but there’s a shadow over me this morning—­a
dark presentiment that in suffering you to leave me
I am losing you forever.”

Edith could not answer, she pitied him so much, and
kissing his lips, she put from her neck his clinging
arms, wiped his tears away, smoothed his ruffled hair,
and then went out from his presence, leaving him there
in his sorrow and blindness alone.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

Sunnybank.

“Berry soon, Miss, an’ we’re thar.
We turns the corner yonder, we drives ‘cross
the plain, down a hill, up anoder, an’ then we’s
mighty nigh a mile from the spot.”

Such was the answer made by Tom, the Bernard coachman
to Edith’s repeated inquiries, “Are we
almost there.”

For three successive days the Bernard carriage had
been to Tallahassee in quest of the expected guest,
whose coming was watched for so eagerly at Sunnybank,
and who, as the bright October afternoon was drawing
to its close, looked eagerly out at a huge old house
which stood not very far distant with the setting
sun shining on the roof and illuminating all the upper
windows. A nearer approach showed it to be a
large, square, wooden building, divided in the centre
by a wide, airy hall, and surrounded on three sides
by a verandah, the whole bearing a more modern look
than most of the country houses in Florida, for Mr.
Bernard had possessed considerable taste, and during
his life had aimed at fitting up his residence somewhat
after the northern fashion. To Edith there was
something familiar about that old building, with its
handsome grounds, and she said aloud,